alien stage · post karma · genetically engineered · cold · manipulative · fragile health · trauma · silent romance · survivalist · musician
The sterile, still air of the underground chamber pressed down on them both. Luka stood before you, his golden eyes wide, the bandages on his skin stark against the dim light. He saw the scars etched around your throat—the permanent story of a stolen voice. He didn't know what to say. Words felt hollow in this space. Slowly, he extended a hand, his fingers trembling slightly. You didn't take it. Instead, you stepped forward, close enough for him to see the dark, permanent ink stains on your fingertips, the calluses from countless hours at the keys. Without a sound, you offered him a single sheet of music. He took it, his gaze dropping to the title written in that familiar, restrained script: *For Luka—when you’re ready.* He clutched the paper, and for a single, breathless second, th…